


Say It Like You Mean It

by Pacifica



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara Is Their Own Warning, F/M, Magic makes for fun times, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Romance, Selectively Mute Frisk, Slow Burn, is this a fic or a lecture, it's a fecture, it's both, mental health, reality hurts don't it?, the best intentions pave a certain road
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifica/pseuds/Pacifica
Summary: You look at him, and it’s so obvious. He needs some help, preferably of the professional kind, and it’s a wonder that he’s remained oblivious to that for so long.
Which is funny, because that’s precisely what he’s thinking when he looks at you.





	1. Maybe hot chocolate just wants to be called beautiful chocolate, did you ever think of that?

**Author's Note:**

> For D and A. You said I didn’t have to be sorry.

They’ve been here for upwards of two hours, now.

Not that it was particularly unusual to have a child loitering about the reception area. Plenty of parents came through and deposited their pride and joy on a seat, volleying a series of apologies in your general direction before you became a somewhat unofficial babysitter for the next hour. Generally, you just made sure to glance up from your work every now and again; confirm the myriad of sounds coming from the electronic device of parental choice was still attached to a decidedly bored looking kid. The additional sounds to your usual silence was more grating some days than others.

However, there was a pointed difference between those times and now.  Having looked up as the bell above the door had chimed, you almost hadn’t seen them. They’re just so…small.

And quiet. Your initial greeting gained you a little wave; a subsequent query as to whether they needed anything a rapid shake of their head- and that was it, really. At this time of the afternoon, when parents are rushing their kids home and traffic is reaching its peak, the number of clients coming through the doors was trickling to a stop…just means more time to assess the current issue.

You’re starting to think there may actually be an issue.

From your brief glances thus far, you’ve ascertained a few things, at least. They’re wearing a school uniform, but for the life of you, you can’t place it among the schools in this area. Haven’t sat down in the time they’ve been here, or felt inclined to put their backpack down. There’s a flower- you’re fairly certain it’s real- sticking out of the biggest pocket, and the bulge in the fabric hints at the pot stowed away in there, too. Show and tell day? You wouldn’t have pegged them at an age where something like that still occurred. Maybe you’d assumed wrong. Maybe they’re tall for their age- which is worse, in some respects. Eyes drawn back to your desktop, you calmly open a new email.

_They’re still here. Most of our afternoon appointments have already left. What should I do?_

Aside from the quiet click of your fingers against the keyboard, nothing else changes. They’re fixated on a wall of pamphlets opposite your desk, reading through each one carefully, before placing it back in its proper place.

They’ve already read the one in their hands. As you watch, they fold it back up as neatly as possible, before stuffing it down the collar of their shirt as some kind of decision is reached. From the slight bulge over their chest, you can imagine it’s not the first one that’s been pushed down there.

Well, they’re free to take, but none of it is what you’d call child reading material.

A soft chime directs your attention back to where it should be.

_Checked with Kelly; neither of the clients out back have kids that we’re aware of. Could be lost or otherwise._

_Weren’t you supposed to go on break half hour ago? Introduce yourself, see if they’ll go with you to the break room. No legal duty of care so don’t force them to stay; let me know if they do leave and we’ll notify authorities._

_Keep ASIST in mind, let me know if you need help. I’ll handle lock and prep._

_Mark_

Bless him, honestly. Damn him a little, as well, but bless him. You linger longer than you need to in locking your desktop, a few twinges of anxiety curdling in your stomach before you leave them behind in your chair.

Don’t take responsibility for what’s out of your hands.

“Hello again!” You muster some cheer into your voice as you approach, watching as they turn towards you. Eyes half-lidded, yet it’s almost…funny, how it doesn’t particularly strike you as them being tired.

The promptness of their wave and the way they stand to attention makes you wonder if they could’ve continued browsing all night, if you hadn’t disturbed them.

You have no idea how to approach this.

“So- just between you and me, I’m about to go on my break now.” You say in a confidential manner. The urge to crouch down is too great to resist, and you grin at them once you’re a little more on the same level. “Thing is; hot chocolate isn’t nearly as fun on your own. Would you like some?”

The words are barely out of your mouth before their face lights up, and the vigorous nod they give you in turn has a laugh escaping you as you stand, waving towards the door. “Cool; wanna help me make it, too? The kitchen’s just down the hall.”

Taking their hand might be too forceful, as much as you’re reluctant to leave them alone; so you don’t. You just walk, letting them come to a decision in their own time as you look back to them, holding the door open.

Coming to a decision, in this scenario, means burying their face into their flower, apparently. There’s a pregnant pause as they simply look at you, cheek resting against the yellow petals and causing them to move and shift to fit to their skin before their mind is seemingly made up, hefting their bag around to hang over their front as they trot over to you. It’s-

Kind of weird. Your assumption of their age continues ticking down, and the door clicks shut behind you both as you keep your pace slow enough to match their own.

The little voice in your head that sounds like Mark (patient, but conveying a note of urgency all the same) gently chides you for not gaining the most important details first, but- it feels just a little more natural like this. Kids are a different ballgame in comparison to your usual interactions. Which is a shame, really. This one in particular seems to be an absolute treasure.

The kitchen is simply an assortment of mismatched plastic chairs around a tiny table, as well as whatever appliances that would fit in the remaining space. Over the years, co-workers and clients alike had added splashes of color and personality to the place, to the point where it was downright cozy, in some respects.

Plus, every now and again you get to relish in something that doesn’t usually work its way into the usual break room.

“So,” You start off, wandering over to the cupboards as your tagalong dutifully follows. “since we’re going to be partners in chocolateering, I gotta pretty serious question for you.” They purse their lips at you, claiming a plastic chair for their own and hugging their bag to themselves, attentive and- downright wary, really. The glass jar you hold up helps stem that immensely. “White or pink marshmallows?”

It’s not the question they’re expecting. The kid looks surprised for a moment, and the rather genuine smile you gain from them as they begin to gesture at the jar enthusiastically goes a long way in making that niggling voice in your mind pipe down. This isn’t work; you’re helping a child. It doesn’t have to follow some generic order of conversation.

It helps that you’ve already picked up something important. Nodding thoughtfully, you unscrew the lid, setting the jar in front of them. “I think we might need to taste-test.”

Two fluffy treats disappear immediately, and by the time you set the kettle to boiling, you’re certain at least two more have followed suit. The flower bobs gently on your stem, and you fancy that they may have ‘fed it one’ when your back was turned.

Second note of importance; the flower. The way they’re treating it reminds you of a kid with a teddy bear or a favored blanket- less of a show and tell than it is a comfort object, possibly, quickly disposing of the initial weird impression and replacing it with something much cuter- and inconvenient. Imagine, lugging that around all day.

“Another secret between the two of us?” You face the counter as you talk, only looking back the once to make sure that- yeah. They’re listening. You quietly thank whatever you can that they’re capable of that much as you put the most colorful mugs you can find out on the counter, shrugging apologetically. “My ASL is pretty terrible. I could get a pen and paper if you want?”

The kid’s mouth falls into a soft ‘oh’; glancing at their flower with a slight furrow to their brow before holding up a hand for patience, digging into the front pocket of their bag. You leave them to it, finishing up on what you hope is a semi-decent hot chocolate. You wouldn’t know; it’s been a while since you’ve had one.

**Is this okay?** Siri asks.

Not Siri- you’ve never actually heard that voice before. Never seen that kind of phone before, either, but you nod your head in approval all the same, putting their cup in front of them as you take a seat of your own. Someone’s parents were smart.

“Wise choice.”

**Yes.** Not-Siri agrees in monotone, before the kid places their phone down in pursuit of creating the perfect tower of marshmallows on top of their drink. The jar is half empty by the time they’re done, and you’re certain that just as many of the sweets, if not more, have already made their way into a now sticky mouth. You mentally apologize to whoever has to make them go to bed, tonight.

“Good?” Another nod over the lip of their cup, and you rest your cheek in your hand, content enough with that. They aren’t visibly distressed; they’re not overly reserved- don’t seem too worried about stranger danger, either. It’s working in your favor, but… it’s not a bad thing, to be a little concerned.

Just because they’re sitting with you now doesn’t mean they couldn’t have ended up in plenty less kind places.

“My name’s ______. You got one too, chocolate buddy?” One hand removes itself from their cup, running over the tiny keyboard of their phone with a practiced skill most adults would envy.

**My name is Frisk. You make good hot chocolate.** You attempt not to laugh, but it’s practically impossible when you’re relating such a tiny kid to that sort of voice.

“Thanks, it’s my secret recipe. Powdered chocolate, hot water, and milk. Don’t tell anybody.” They nod wisely, running their fingers over their lips before throwing away the key. “Your uniform is pretty neat; I don’t recognize the school though.”

Frisk practically buries their face into their cup.

**I go to Ebott School of Monsters.** You let out a low whistle, mildly impressed.

“Yeah? You’re pretty lucky; I heard the waiting list is a mile long.” Or so says the news. Not bad for a school less than two years old, it really was making a name for itself. “You like it there? Monsters are pretty awesome, huh?”

Those were the magic words, right there. Their half empty mug is once again abandoned in their enthusiasm, fingers flying and a bright smile aimed your way.

**It is really great. My mother is a teacher there. Monsters are great.**

“Monsters are great, totally!” Not an unpopular opinion, these days. “And your mom’s teaching there, too? She must be really good at what she does.”

**She is the best.** Frisk confirms. The monotone voice does absolutely no justice to how much they’re puffing up with pride. It’s…it’s a good sign, you think. **She is the best teacher ever.**

“ _Ever,_ ever?”

**Ever ever.**

“Well if you say so, she must be. I bet your dad’s pretty proud, too.” They shake their head at you, seemingly not put off at the slightest.

**I do not have a father. I have lots of aunts and uncles, they are very proud of my mother.**

This… this text to speech on their phone. It’s not exactly built for their age, is it? Some of the ways they’ve answered you sounds like you’re talking to their grandmother.

A grandmother with a good family.

“Busy too, I bet. She spend a lot of time at school?” At…what time did you leave your desk? Five-thirty? Frisk confirms your suspicions with a nod, and you give them a somewhat knowing look, tone carefully gentle. “Is she still at school right now?”

A pause. You’re pretty sure they know where you’re going with this.

**Yes.**

“…Are you supposed to be at school, too?” Their fingers withdraw from the keyboard, but you don’t need that for confirmation. The guilty little nod of their head is enough.

It’s not your place to be angry or disappointed at them, and you aren’t. Regardless of their age- you can only assume they’re, what? Ten, tops? - it can’t be the most interesting place to spend your afternoons as a child. A bit of curiosity leads to talking a bit of a walk, and here they are.

All the way across the other side of town.

“Gosh, I guess I’m lucky then! You’re excellent company.” You praise rather than condone, and Frisk glances up at you, shoulders slumping as you continue. “But it’s a bit late now, Frisk. Maybe we can give your mom a call, yeah? Let her know where you are?”

**I can walk back.** The text to speech tells you. **She was working.**

“I dunno. I think it’d be pretty worried if you walked back alone.” They look at their flower, lips pursed, and shake their head. Fingers hovering over their phone for a moment, before they let out a soft sigh, nodding in acceptance. Which is great, because you’re not sure you have the heart to tell them a flower doesn’t count as company.

“You worried she’ll be mad?” A shake of their head; much more vigorous.

…

“You want me to talk to her?”

Frisk doesn’t respond for a good while. Something in the way they’re looking at you now has shifted; it no longer feels like you’re sitting across the table from a child. Which is really stupid, honestly. They’re a child. They look like a child, and workaround aside, they talk like a child.

Somehow, you just feel so much smaller than them, right now.

**I would like you to speak to my mother, please.** And then the moment’s gone. You’re hard pressed to hold in a sigh of relief, stealing the shopping list off the fridge and scribbling down the number Frisk provides before excusing yourself. The moment you’re out of sight, you take a moment to hug yourself.

For a moment there, it had felt like you were sitting with an entirely different person.

How paranoid do you have to be, for that? Scoffing under your breath, you head back to your desk, absently noting that Mark’s already been through and locked up. You’ll have to make it up to him later, but for now, you’ve got a mother to call.

She picks up on the second ring, which is about the exact time you realize you never asked for her name.

“This is Toriel.” Says a smooth voice on the other line; the exact voice Frisk’s text to speech function uses. “…Is anyone there?”

“Ah, yes! Hello, my name is ______. I ah-“ Really need to calm down. You laugh a little, running a hand through your hair. “I think Frisk might have decided to go for a wander, this afternoon? I just wanted to call and let you know where they are.”

“They did?” She sounds so sincerely surprised, a lengthy pause meeting your ears for a good while before she speaks once more. “I see that they have; my apologies. Generally, I am here rather late, but they wouldn’t usually leave the school grounds without me.”

It’s such a hasty explanation that you can almost hear her asking you not to judge her parenting skills, quick to reassure her in turn. “Oh, no, it’s really no problem! I was just concerned about the time, uh… they wandered pretty far?”

“Oh dear. In that case, I must apologize further for the trouble; would it be possible for them to remain with you until someone comes to pick them up?”

“Absolutely. Did you want my mobile number and the address; you can text me when someone’s on their way.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” In comparison to how she sounds on Frisk’s phone, her tone is considerably warm, thanking you again and again as you supply her with the details she needs, assuring you that she’d be in contact momentarily to confirm what was happening. So…all’s well that ends well?

You hope so. Peeking back into the kitchen, Frisk is entertaining themselves by sticking their fingers into their cup, and licking off the sticky brown that was stuck in the bottom. It’s not your call; you’re not their parent. You’re not _a parent,_ period, and the idea of what it would be like, to realize your child had seemingly walked right out from under your nose to locations unknown is a terror you can’t understand, only empathize with.

She sounded like a good woman. Knocking on the doorway, you get their attention, returning their smile with one of your own, and handing back their phone. The odd feeling from earlier is discarded.

“Your mom says hi; she’s going to get someone to come pick you up, so until then, you want to keep hanging out with me? I have a few things I need to do, but you’re welcome to come with,” You tell them, tone slightly warning. “It might be a little boring, though.”

**I would like to come; can Flowey come to?**

Oh. They named their flower. Your smile widens, and the newly dubbed ‘Flowey’ gets a pat on the head for being such a good flower. It’s nothing special; you’re certain it’s a breed of the same flower Mount Ebott is famous for, something that’s gained in popularity the past few years due to the reverence they hold in the world’s newest (and possibly oldest) culture. That Frisk has one doesn’t strike you as surprising, not when you know a little more of their background.

“So long as Flowey is on it’s best behavior, then they can come to.”

**Flowey is a he,** Frisk corrects you promptly, and you apologize profusely to the flower as they watch on approvingly.

You really wish you had something a little more interesting for them to do, but organizing chairs in the back room is practically all that’s left to do, if Mark had locked up. Frisk doesn’t complain, however; you talk back and forth easily enough, topics to choose from vast when you both know so little. You keep it light, keep it fun; it turns into something of a game, and Frisk’s face scrunches up whenever it’s their turn to ask a question, always looking tremendously serious whenever they finally deem it right to ask what your age is, or your favorite color.

Frisk uses they/them pronouns. They’re eleven; a little older than you were expecting them to be, but not by much. Their favorite color is red. They like dogs and turtles, and their favorite subject at school is science, because they get to do group work all the time. Part of you fondly hopes they never grow older, because that last big fav was liable to change the moment they hit high school.  It’s almost disappointing to feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you read the message out to them as you both wander to the supply closet, looking to fish out a few working markers for the whiteboard.

“Your mom says a friend is on his way; he’s going to meet you out the front.” You’ll head out there in a moment, then. “Next question; what’s the _best_ thing about monsters?”

**The food, lol.** Siri answers, and you choke back your laughter with a series of unconvincing coughs. If their own breathy hiccups are anything to go by, Frisk isn’t convinced in the least by your act, catching you out by typing another **lol** ; for posterity’s sake, of course.

“Okay, okay- really though, good answer. Monster food is delicious.” And harder to come by, the further out of Ebott people were. The new cuisine had made your once tiny town a regular hotspot for foodies, among others. Once you’ve set the markers down where they need to go, you make for the front door, surprised when Frisk’s fingers curl about your own. You didn’t mean to offer a hand, but- it’s sweet, that they’re happy enough to take it.

It seems odd, but you already feel like you’re going to miss them. Frisk’s a good kid; knowing that they’ll be going home to the owner of that warm voice you’d spoken to is the only thing that curves the sensation.

Since the front door is already locked, you bring them out through the side door, squinting against the last rays of the sun as it finishes its descent behind Mount Ebott. A quick jaunt through the employee’s carpark, and you’re on the sidewalk, guiding Frisk to sit alongside you on the low retaining wall out front.

They carefully maneuver their backpack onto the wall beside them, giving their flower a gentle pet and kicking their heels against the brick. It’s a nice way to enjoy the last of the day, all things considered- outdoors, no urge to rush. Most things can wait until tomorrow; those that can’t can still be done. There’s a whole evening to look forward to, though there’s every possibility that you’ll be a little more distracted than usual.

**It’s my turn to ask a question, right?** Frisk asks you. You nod your head, admiring the changing colors in the sky above; still a vague tint of orange there, as everything slowly settles into muted pinks and purples. **That’s not my question, by the way.**

“See, now you’re spoiling the fun.” You tease, smile widening when you hear those same, breathy sounds of amusement from before. It takes no small effort to drag your eyes away from it, though Frisk’s real question helps.

**Why do you work here?**

A question like that is so odd that you can’t help but be startled, looking down to meet their serious little gaze- like a switch flipped, they change modes on you before your mind has time to catch up.  You’re not so certain that a kid of their age should be capable of looks like that; like what you say next is of the utmost importance to them.

“Because it’s the right thing to do, mostly,” You test the words in your mouth, and speaking them aloud feels rather silly, in its own way. You’re not lying, however. “I like my work; I like the people I work with. But the most important thing, I think, is that we get to make a difference here, you know?”

You have to laugh at yourself, rubbing at your nose in a sheepish motion. That? That was very silly. You make a game attempt at salvaging an already terrible explanation, leaning in a little and lowering your voice.

“Do you like helping people, Frisk?” They nod, with absolutely zero hesitation, and your smile returns almost instantly. “So do I. And that’s what we do here; help people.”

**A lot of people?**

“As many as we can, as often as we can.”

**With the things in your pamphlets.** Frisk responds, nodding sagely. You feel your brow creasing as a small suspicion comes to mind, jumping just as much as Frisk does, when a horn goes off sharply from beside you. That would be Frisk’s ride-

That would also be a limo. You stare quietly at it as Frisk pushes off the low wall, collecting up their bag carefully and offering you a friendly wave, and an even friendlier smile.

**Thanks for waiting with me.**

“Sure. No problem.” Right. Right- standing yourself, you reach out, again without thinking, and whatever gesture you first intended winds up being a brief ruffle of their hair, jerky and embarrassing. Embarrassing, because you’ve known this child a good hour at most, and it’s probably not all that appropriate to be so familiar in such a short timeframe.

They really don’t look put off by it, though.

**Can I come have hot chocolate with you soon?** If anything, they look hopeful, pulling your clumsy feelings away, and grinding them beneath one, tiny heel. Is it really that surprising to be so smitten by a kid like this?

“Only if your mom says it’s okay, next time.” It’s not your place to say it; but you do. You don’t have kids, or siblings, and yet it just feels right.  “Be good, okay?”

Their own smile widens, and you gain a moment of time where small arms wrap around your middle, before they’re moving over to the limo, and letting themself in. You watch it pull away from the kerb and down the street, until a right turn takes it towards the other side of town, and out of sight.

In fact, you stay there for a good while, until the streetlight across the road flickers on, and pulls you out of your thoughts. Hurrying back inside, you go to print off the listings needed for this evening, and not one does your smile fade, even when that sneaking suspicion rears its head- and leaves your wondering just why a kid like that would take so much interest in a place like this.

If their mom ever allows them to come back for hot chocolate, you’ll have to ask them.


	2. Chocolate really wins over even the most difficult of people, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wait has occurred; thank you to everyone who’s still sticking with this!
> 
> Super appreciative of all the feedback thus far; especially the comments. Hopefully the slow burn on this isn’t too excessive for y’all.

 

You imagine that everyone at your age can think of an occasion in their life where they’d been glued to their laptop or television. Sometimes the world can be unkind, and events unfold that you simply wish weren’t unfolding. It’s unavoidable. You pull up every news story; you listen to the live feeds of police radios; you scan every vague, fuzzy picture as it’s uploaded, well into the early hours of the morning.

More persistent still is the large part of you holding out the hope that what you’re seeing just… isn’t real. That the sick, twisted sensation in your stomach and the heaviness of your shoulders is just a bad dream; that you’re only imagining the sense of quiet encroaching upon your world in the uneasy days following.

It seems ridiculous to look back upon the day monsters came to the Surface and know it had been one such occasion. A day in which the entire world stopped, held its collective breath, and asked question after question. _Where did they come from? Why now? How could we forget such an important aspect of our history?_

_What did they want?_

Just to live, came the answer. What monsters brought to the table had eventually won over most of the world. Gold paved ways where words would not; a willingness to share their understanding of technology, of science, of the world… magic.

In those first few years, it seemed like everything to do with monsters just fell into place. Their ambassador at the time had just been a kid, apparently- a smart one, if the practices they’d put into place were anything to go by. Or just surrounded by smart people. Everything that needed to be thought of was. Every fall back put in place, every loophole closed.

Last you’d heard of them, they’d put their duties on hiatus in the new year; back to being just a kid, doing things that kids could do, and personally? You held the same sentiments that most seemed to have- that whoever that kid was, they were finally getting the chance to be a child again.

There’s enough kids not getting that chance without adding politics into it.

Your morning walk to work was the perfect time for idle thinking. With your headphones pumping out whatever tune you’d had on repeat for the past few days, routine took over brainpower when it came to keeping an eye on where you walked; stopping at the appropriate places, sidestepping commuters at others. Even travelling down the street, there was a thrill to the diversity around you; in humans and monsters both, as people who’d never particularly found their place in the world converged into a space where anyone was welcome.

Ebott had become a true melting pot of culture in the last three years, with many monsters content to settle close by to the mountain they’d been contained in, and the embassy of monsterkind leading to plenty of government offices relocating to a once small town. You hardly recognized it as your childhood home, anymore. You had choice now; between the coffee shop two doors down, or the monster café another five. A fast food joint round the block. You’d grown up here, and whilst there were many within the elder population less than satisfied with so much change, you simply couldn’t bring yourself to agree. Change happened. Change led to opportunity. It led to your job.

You couldn’t imagine anything making you happier than that.

At twenty minutes to nine, you’re sitting down in your seat at reception and turning on your computer, humming absently. Most of the morning goes to catching up on the few details you’d missed out on yesterday. Accruals for expenditure are due at ten, arrangements need to be made for transport and lodgings for two coworkers next month. You manage to get through most of it without too many interruptions; the only people wandering into your space booked in for appointments, and when the phone finally rings, you’re capable of giving it- most of your attention, cradling the receiver in the crook of your neck as you greet the caller cheerfully.

“Good morning, this is _____.”

“YES, HELLO!!” That said, you still almost drop it when a voice booms out of the traitorous plastic, frantically scrambling to get it at a safe distance from your now ringing ears. “THIS IS THE HUMAN _____, YES?”

“Yes, it-“

“OH, GOODY!” The other voice exclaims delightedly; if anything, they (he?) only gets louder. Hastily, you turn the volume of your phone down, smiling out the front windows in utter bewilderment as they (he??) continues. “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS- YOU HAVE HEARD OF ME, NO DOUBT, THROUGH OUR MUTUAL HUMAN FRIEND!”

“Our mutual human friend..?”

“YES! I WANTED TO PERSONALLY THANK YOU FOR ASSISTING THEM YESTERDAY, SO THANK YOU, FOR MAKING SURE FRISK GOT HOME SAFELY!” Ah. The context snaps into place quickly enough; as do the previously odd mentions of your species. They must have quite a few friends, in the monster community. “IT WAS WRONG OF THEM TO LEAVE THE SCHOOL WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE, EVEN IF THEIR INTENTIONS WERE PURE! TORIEL ASSURED ME THAT SHE IS ALSO VERY GRATEFUL, HOWEVER, SHE IS CURRENTLY IN CLASS.”

You’re proud of how even your voice sounds, because the urge to laugh is high. Almost at optimum levels. “It was my pleasure; I’m glad they got home safely.”

“THEY DID! IN FACT…” Papyrus- no, the Great Papyrus’ voice lowers, slightly. Even then, he’s still yelling. You don’t even need to turn the volume back up. “I HAVE ALSO BEEN INFORMED BY OUR MUTUAL FRIEND THAT YOU MAKE FANTASTIC HOT CHOCOLATE. I AM EAGER TO TRY SOME, AND THEY WOULD ALSO BE REMISS IF THEY DID NOT GET TO EXPERIENCE IT AGAIN. WHEN ARE YOU NEXT AVAILABLE, FOR SHOWING ME THE WONDERS OF CHOCOLATEERING?”

“Well-” One, strangled word, before you regain composure. It’s difficult, but your personal pride grows, the longer you keep your cool. Taking that additional breath also gives you the time to think, before your first, impulsive answer ( _absolutely, come today_ ) becomes the one that leaves your mouth. “So long as Toriel’s aware… maybe tomorrow? I might need to get back to you.”

“OF COURSE! IT MUST BE VERY ABRUPT, TO FIND YOURSELF GIVEN SUCH AN HONOR!” Screw it. You put yourself on mute, muffling your laughter into your hand as Papyrus continues. “I HAVE AN IDEA! I WILL GIVE YOU MY NUMBER; THAT WAY, YOU CAN LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU ARE FREE ANY TIME! ...HUMAN? IS THIS ACCEPTABLE?”

You have to give yourself one, last cough before responding.

“Sorry, that’s fine. What’s the number, Papyrus?” You jot it down on a notepad, reading it back once he’s finished reciting it. He seems fairly pleased at that, praising you for your number retention; you don’t have the heart to tell him it’s right in front of you.

“I LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU, HUMAN! FAREWELL; OR IN PAPYRUS’ PERSONAL PREFERENCE, SEE YOU LATER! NYEH HEH! CLICK!”

He actually yells click, before he hangs up. Leaving you with your phone in the crook of your shoulder, smiling stupidly at nothing.

Monsters are wonderful.

Still, this may not be appropriate. Even if Frisk isn’t a client, this is a business. So you keep your notepad next to you as you work, a casual reminder to ask, once you’ve finished what needs getting done. After a conversation like that, the time seems to fly by.

Monsters are wonderful. There’s something about them; happy at the smallest of things. You remember with absolute clarity, one of the first conversations you’d had with one. Walking cross a pedestrian crossing, the somewhat amphibious creature had stopped right in front of you, just looking up at the sky. Smiling, for no reason.

When you’d gently intruded, anxious to ensure that you got to work on time, and that you didn’t leave them to get run over by an impatient commuter, the very first thing they’d said to you (past a cheerfully uttered apology) had been “I don’t think the sky will ever stop being beautiful”.

It’s that appreciation for life itself, you think, that’s helped them come so far, in such a small amount of time. Past the politics, people are people, and people don’t always get along. Monsters, however- monsters had a deep appreciation and love of the world, a kind of vibrancy towards life that was utterly infectious. It’s sad to think that your interactions with them have been such general, surface conversations, thus far. An amazing contrast, to just how eager you are to spend time with this Papyrus.

And Frisk, as well. The thought of getting to know that kid a little better, it-

Fills you with the urge to get up from your desk, right this second. Glancing at the time, you’re taken aback at just how quickly it’s gone; eleven-thirty already, and it feels like you’ve barely even started. Even if you didn’t want to follow this up, it’s well and truly time for a break.

First thing’s first; before looking into the state of coffee in the kitchen, you head a little further into the building, stalling long enough to knock on the only door with light pooling beneath it.

“_____, good morning,” One day, you’d see Mark in something other than a button up shirt and shorts, but today was not that day. The most surprising thing about his attire today is that his shirt is a soft green, rather than the usual variation of blue checkers that’s been the staple of his wardrobe since the first time you met him. He smiles at you over the rim of his glasses, and it’s easy, to smile right back.

“Almost afternoon, actually.”

“Really?” His surprise is practically a mirror of your own, looking down at his laptop before a soft titter leaves his mouth. “So it is; break time for the both of us, then.”

“Yes sir.” Mark is… well, first and foremost, he’s your manager. He’s everyone’s manager; has been for longer than you’d even known this place existed. You wouldn’t believe it, in any other place; he’s too gentle, too soft spoken. Blond, but in a way that makes you suspect it’s come out of a bottle. You’ve made jokes before about him looking like he’s off MythBusters, instead of a highly qualified manager.

He’s also someone you have little hesitation discussing personal difficulties of the job with, because he takes your words and your feelings seriously. Always fostering a sense of community, always willing to listen when people seek more training, to provide the opportunities for it. You don’t really have any work experience outside of this, but if someone asked you what a manager was supposed to be, you’d say this was it. Someone capable of being everyone’s friend when they needed it, but equally as capable of being their leader. Boss feels like a separate word entirely; and it is, really.

“So I have a question.” You tell him, and he groans goodnaturedly, falling into step with you as you both make your way to the kitchen. “Okay, see, it’s not work related, technically! It’s about that kid from yesterday.”

“Ah; are they okay? Their parents- mother, you said? She hasn’t followed up with an issue?”

“Not at all; I think...maybe I spoke with one of their teachers? A monster named Papyrus.” You can’t keep the smile off your face. “Apparently Frisk was bragging about my hot chocolate. He was very impressed.”

“I see.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in mirth, waving an arm at the kitchen door to urge you in before him. “It sounds like all’s well that ends well, in that case.”

“Sounds like; but he’s also hoping to bring Frisk back around for some hot chocolate.” Since Mark conceded the door to you, you make sure to check the water level of the kettle, pulling two cups out of the cupboard and organizing his coffee from memory. “I wanted to know if it’s alright, for them to be here. Technically it’s not work related, but...”

“Bringing friends into work; how taboo.” He teases., snorting when you make a face in turn. “My only concern would be if we have clients; you know when we’re busy, so use some discretion.”

“And that’s okay?” You double-check, just to be sure. “I was thinking tomorrow afternoon, so we wouldn’t have anyone coming in.”

“Absolutely fine. We’re always open to the community.” A pause, and a gentle addition. “Just make sure they sign in and out, since Frisk won’t be dropping in out of the blue, this time.”

“Has anyone told you recently that you’re amazing?” He does laugh at that, taking a seat and offering his thanks as you bring his cup over with your own.

“No, but I’m not the one winning over children and monsters alike with my amazing powdered chocolate.” There are limits to how much of a friend Mark can be. Instinct tells you to make a rude gesture; common sense leaves you flapping your hand at him, midway through taking a sip from your cup. “You did well yesterday; it’s good to have some followup.”

There’s too many times in this work where you don’t get that, are the words unspoken. It’s sobering.

 “Yeah. I’m actually really looking forward to seeing them again; they’re a good kid. An assessment I’m making based off one whole hour of talking with them, I know.” You add, before Mark even opens his mouth. He raises his brows at you, not saying a word- but the smile says it all. “I’d like to get to know them better; and meeting some of their friends sounds pretty good, from where I’m sitting.”

“Chocolate will never be safe in this kitchen again.” Mark shakes his head mournfully- and again, with that knowing look. “Or my marshmallows.”

“I’ll buy more.”

“You better.”

 

* * *

 

Papyrus, as it turns out, texts in all caps. For some reason, you’re not even remotely surprised; your offer for Frisk and him to rock up tomorrow afternoon resulting in a much longer conversation about whether or not you enjoyed puzzles (you do) and the difficulty that could only be found in vexing word scrambles. He’s particularly overjoyed to know that such things were practically a staple, throughout most of your schooling.

**#727 [A GREAT PAPYRUS]: CLEARLY, HUMAN EDUCATION IS VERY RIGOROUS, IF SMALL CHILDREN ARE EXPECTED TO EXCEL IN WORD SCRAMBLES!!**

He’s not the only one to text you. Later in the afternoon, Toriel sends you a few paragraphs of her own, thanking you once again for helping Frisk yesterday, confirming that she approves of Frisk’s visit, and letting you know to contact her, if you need any assistance at all.

**#867 [TORIEL] : Additionally, would it be amenable if I provided Frisk with your number?**

**#867 [TORIEL]: I believe they would also like to thank you for your help.**

You have no protests at all. Their messages don’t come until later; you miss them coming in entirely, midway through locking up by the time they do.

**#374: hi. thanks for helping me. also thanks for being nice to my mom.**

**#374: i hope you had a good day!**

You have to admit, it’s not a bad thing to come back to. Shooting back a text, you keep glancing at your phone as you collect your things, more than ready for your day to end. You have a feeling that part of it is wanting to be home, giving your phone your full attention; you’d had to concede defeat earlier, and tell Papyrus you’d text him once you were off work.

Pity. You really want to know more about Peek-a-boo With Fluffy Bunny.

**#968 [YOU]: No prob bob. And yeah, I did! Did you get in trouble yesterday?**

 

**#374 [FRISK]: lol i got a lecture.**

**#374 [FRISK]: which is ok because i made mom worry.**

 

**#968 [YOU]: Ouch. It is fair though.**

 

**#374 [FRISK]: i know.**

**#374 [FRISK]: also about Papyrus.**

**#374 [FRISK]: hes a skeleton. jsyk.**

**#374 [FRISK]: sometimes it freaks people out.**

It does take you a few moments to comprehend, if you’re honest with yourself. Stepping out of the building, your texts come more slowly, gaze shifting from screen to walkway every few moments as you start the long trek (a trek that always, always, seemed so much longer than your walks in the morning) home.

**#968 [YOU]: You mean like a humanoid skeleton? I think I remember seeing one.**

**#968 [YOU]: There was the one who was on the news a lot. Like that?**

 

**#374 [FRISK]: yeah thats papyrus. he was on the news alot when things were new.**

**#374 [FRISK]: but dont worry. hes really nice!**

**#374 [FRISK]: also can i ask you another question?**

**#374 [FRISK]: and no that isnt the question.**

 

**#968 [YOU]: Thought I said that was cheating.**

You grin, and almost run into a pole in the process. Good stuff, you. Winning at life.

**#968 [YOU]: Shoot. I’m just walking home, so I’ll answer when I’m there.**

It’s time to concentrate, for a minute. Though by concentrate, you also mean putting in your headphones, so that’s ever so slightly detrimental. It still allows you to focus your gaze on the pathway ahead, and on a day like this, you feel good enough to meet the gazes of humans and monsters that catch your own, offering a nod, a smile. Murmuring a good afternoon under your breath.

You do hope you’re actually smiling. After replicating the same action five or six times, you almost certain it’s coming across more like a grimace. The important thing is that you’ve made the attempt.

Home, for you, is a small two bedroom apartment, on the cusp of where you’d need to start looking at public transport to get to work, rather than your own two feet. The closer you get to Ebott’s School for Monsters, the more expensive housing became- and in the opposite direction, the monster embassy had prices skyrocketing, as new government agencies left people racing to attain housing that would suit a busy work schedule. There’s more still, commuting from hours away. You have no idea how they do it.

There’s been development in this area; and a lot of it, but nothing to the extent that those areas have seen. Prices went up, but prices always went up. You can afford to live; every few months or so, you can afford to treat yourself. That’s all you needed at this point. Everyone had to start somewhere.

You just happened to start here. Leaving your things by the front door, you flop down on the couch, relishing those precious seconds in which your body begins to relax. Content in the knowledge that for the next few hours, at least, you’re not required to get up. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the weekend.

Tomorrow marks catching up with one kid, still waiting for your response. Lazily, you fish your phone back out of your pockets, headphones still blaring out a tune you’re barely paying attention to.

**#374 [FRISK]: okay**

**#374 [FRISK]: Here is my question.**

**#374 [FRISK]: Looking at the pamphlets, your facility offers counseling for monsters, correct?**

**#374 [FRISK]: Considering that psychology is a fairly new subject where monsters are concerned, isn’t there a large risk involved? If anything happened, your company would be liable.**

Christ.

Apparently they’d been doing their homework yesterday. And today, maybe. Your brow furrows, and glancing up at their previous texts, you have to wonder if someone else is messaging you for them. Did they ask Toriel for help?

 

**#968 [YOU]: We do, and you’re right, it is risky.**

**#968 [YOU]: Psychology is still pretty new for humans, as well. At least as far as science goes. There’s always risks involved, because we don’t know everything. With monsters, we know even less.**

And monsters came with additional risks. It wasn’t until their second year aboveground that you’d even heard about it; that anyone had any awareness, and that was mostly through emergency services. Falling Down, they called it. What happens to a monster when they get old.

What happens when a monster loses hope.

Places your work; Mount Ebott Mental Health Association. They were the places that needed this information most. There was a reason therapy practices had only recently been introduced for monsters. There was a reason these services were separate from human consultations. Depression for a human could lead to some serious issues; suicide was never off the table.

A monster without hope was literally a matter of life and death. Always. The wrong word, the wrong approach; they could easily doom someone instead of saving them.

The fact that it’s something you’re aware of isn’t surprising. You have to be. The fact that Frisk’s chosen it as the topic for conversation is… odd.

It’s really odd. More difficult is trying to phrase it in a way a child will understand; without many of the words you might use when talking to an anxious monster, or their families. Without the charts and support to ensure they understand every step involved. Because they have to.

**#968 [YOU]: It’s something we’re working on. We have a lot of help from monsters to do this; it’s not something humans just decided they could work out on their own. What we can offer right now is actually really small, because there’s too much we don’t know. They might not be everything that’s needed, but I can promise what we do offer now is safe.**

...Is that enough? They don’t respond for some time, and so, you don’t really know. You respond to Papyrus in the interim, learning a little more of fluffy bunny. Smiling when he sends you a photo of his favorite part (THE ENDING ALWAYS GETS TO ME!) and you can see bone instead of flesh, where fingers are holding the book open.

Looks like Frisk wasn’t kidding, about that. You decide not to mention it to him. Eventually, you drag yourself up to make some dinner, flip on the television and put on a show that you’re not really paying attention to. You’re more interested in talking to Papyrus- in checking your conversation with Frisk, frown growing more and more prominent as no new message appears.

Maybe you didn’t really answer their question.

It’s disappointing; and there’s a part of you that wonders if maybe you should clarify. Go a little more in depth, make sure that they understand. But it’s hard to say which part of you wants that; the part that thinks Frisk is a nice kid, looking forward to spending time with them tomorrow, or the part of you that’s been training to become a counselor; the part that’s only a dozen more hours of probation away from the full qualification. You can’t answer that for yourself, and that’s enough of an indication to leave things well enough alone.

Still, it’s a slightly sour note to the rest of your night, passing texts back and forth with Papyrus, slowly getting yourself ready for bed. Tomorrow is the start of the weekend; but it’s not the weekend _yet._ You still have things to do. You still have work- and at some point, you need to get some shopping done. Wash some clothes. Vacuum the apartment. Little things that build up, every time you come home at the end of a long day, and promise yourself you’ll do it tomorrow. None of that goes away for a child you’d met yesterday.

That doesn’t stop you from immediately rolling over to grab your phone, well after the time when you’d said your goodnights to Papyrus, and extinguished the lights. The glare from the screen is enough to make you squint, but you drag up Frisk’s message quickly enough, reading it over quickly. Then reading it over again.

 

**#374 [FRISK]: Very good. It really does sound like you know your stuff.**

**#374 [FRISK]: I hope you don’t mind if I ask you more questions tomorrow. I’m looking forward to more hot chocolate.**

**#374 [FRISK]: Good night. :)**

What does it say about you, that part of you finds their message unnerving?

What does it say about you, that part of you doesn’t? Sighing, you shoot back a quick good night of your own, before rolling back onto your side. You need to sleep. Just.

Don’t think about it, anymore.


End file.
